Just Being Near You
by DEERPARKOUR
Summary: Jean Kirschtein; school athlete, academic failure and hater of all things art-related finds himself falling for the shy and reclusive new kid, Bertholdt Fubar. [Bert/Jean] [Eventual Reiner/Marco] [Modern AU]
1. Chapter 1

**1**

Art had never been Jean Kirschtein's best subject. He glared angrily at the sketch he'd been working on for the past half hour before placing his elbows on the desk and resting his head on a graphite-smudged hand as he looked out the window. After days –hell, maybe even weeks- of rain, the sun was shining brightly in the pristine blue sky. Today was the one day of the week where he was stuck in the art department for a double period. He groaned quietly; wishing he was outside getting some laps down on the track instead of being cooped up in the stifling heat and uneasy silence of the art room. He glanced at the charcoal drawing Marco was working on. It put his attempt to shame. Marco was suited for art; he had a keen eye and the patience of a goddamned saint. Jean, on the other hand, had only chosen the subject because he'd thought it would be a breeze. The instructor, however, had other ideas. Even now, at the very start of the year, he was struggling to meet deadlines. He stared at his half-hearted sketch once more before pushing it aside and resting his head on the desk. God, this was going to be a long afternoon.

Jean shot up the moment the door to the art room creaked open. He grabbed the pencil sitting beside him and attempted to look like he was actually doing something constructive with his time instead of dozing off in the middle of the lesson. He turned to the door where the instructor, Mr Dawk, was talking quietly to a nervous-looking young man. He wasn't the only one who was staring; the whole class seemed to have glanced up to have a look at the new arrival. Jean didn't recall having seen him before. Due to its small size, Rose Academy was one of those schools where everyone knew everyone. Jean deduced the boy must be new. Everyone had gone back to their work, but Jean chewed idly on the end of his pencil as he regarded him. He was tall- even taller than Marco- with black hair and a slight tan. Jean smirked inwardly at how nervous he looked. The boy stared at the floor, cheeks flushed and beads of sweat forming on his brow as he mumbled a quiet response to the instructor, who nodded and indicated he should take a seat.

Bertholdt Fubar nervously scanned the classroom. There were a couple of seats available, but only one that backed onto a wall. He had never liked the feeling of people watching his back and there was something reassuring about being able to see who was coming in and out of the classroom. He kept his eyes on the floor as he made his way over to the table, clutching his bag and avoiding eye contact with anyone. He pulled the seat out before hastily muttering a quick "I- uhh- is anyone…?". Jean shook his head in response and Bertholdt nodded shyly and sat down. He rummaged about in his bag for a pencil, trying his best to keep his head down. Jean viewed the new arrival as a welcome distraction from his work.

"You new?", he asked.

"…Yes.", Bertholdt replied uncertainly. This was his first time in school without his childhood friend, Reiner. He wasn't used to being on his own or to being addressed directly. But at least someone was talking to him, right? Reiner had said he should make some friends. Maybe this was his chance?

"What's your name?"

"Bertholdt.", he mumbled. "What's yours?"

"Jean Kirschtein. The one and only." Bertholdt nodded in response, offering a nervous smile at his last comment.

"What school are you from?".

"St Maria's.", the dark-haired boy answered. Jean grunted and offered a nod. St Maria's High School had been demolished at the end of last school year. He wasn't the first to arrive from there, and he probably wouldn't be the last. There was a moment of silence before Bertholdt mustered up the courage to ask what it was the class was currently working on. Jean waved his pencil in the direction of an assortment of random items that sat across from him. "Still life." He cast an angry glance at his incredibly rough looking sketch. "God help me."

"Jean, quit complaining.", Marco whispered, elbowing him. "It could be worse."

Jean snorted and turned his paper over so that he could start afresh. He put his head down and got to work again as the instructor wandered idly past them. He was thankful that there was no room for Dawk to lean over and get a good look at his work (or lack thereof). He tried to settle down and get his head in the zone, but everything he drew just seemed to turn out so _wrong. _He persevered, only giving up again after his third attempt at drawing a worn, mangy looking teddy-bear. His pencil was blunt and there were smudges of grey from the graphite on his hands littered all over the piece. Things just weren't going his way. He peered over at Marco, who was completely absorbed in his work. He hadn't even noticed the smudges of charcoal on his face from when he had gone to scratch his nose or the back fingerprints on his pristine white shirt from when he had adjusted his collar. Jean shrugged inwardly. He couldn't even begin to comprehend what his friend found so exciting about art. He turned to see what Bertholdt had produced.

"God fucking damn." were the only words to leave his mouth as he stared at the tall boy's drawing. The lines were nowhere near as precise as Marco's, but he seemed to capture the essence of the heap of junk in front of them even after only ten minutes spent working. He had all the details faintly sketched out, even down to the cracks on the jugs and marbles and the worn label on one of the bottles. Bertholdt looked up, surprised, charcoal still pressed against the paper.

"…I know it's not that good, but charcoal has never been my favourite medium...!", he stammered, cheeks flushing with what was probably embarrassment.

"Are you fucking shitting me-"

"**Language**, Jean!", barked Mr Dawk from across the room. Jean sheepishly looked back down at his work, only casting a glance up when he was sure the instructor had resumed working at the front of the classroom. He glared at Eren Yeager, who had let out a stifled laugh and was now smirking at him from across the room. God, how he hated that kid. He stuck his middle finger up at him, mouthing a quick "_piss off, Yeager_" before turning back to Bertholdt.

"How the hell are you so good?", he demanded, keeping his voice low.

"I- I'm not really that good… Just practice…", the black-haired boy replied, trailing off towards the end of the sentence.

"…Just practice, huh?", Jean said, frowning a little as he glanced out the window, praying the sky would stay blue and that he wouldn't get into too much trouble for giving up entirely and putting his head down to sleep instead.

**2**


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Bertholdt stumbled into the house, still not quite used to the weight of all the new textbooks and jotters teachers at his new school had thrust upon him. From outside he hadn't been able to tell if Reiner was home yet, but judging by the fact the door was left unlocked and there was the sweet smell of baking in the air, he most certainly was. The black-haired boy smiled a little and gently placed his bag down in the hall, relieved to be rid of the weight.

"Bertholdt!", yelled a voice from the kitchen. "Get in here!". '_Oh dear' _was the first thought that entered Bertholdt's mind as he sprinted through to see what the problem was. Had Reiner set the kitchen on fire again? He turned the corner, expecting the worst. He stood stock still as he laid eyes on the kitchen table. "…Reiner.", he muttered.

"Great, isn't it?". Reiner Braun couldn't have looked more pleased with himself if he tried. A grin was plastered on his broad face, one flour-covered hand resting on his rather bedraggled looking blond hair, the other resting on his hip. Bert stumbled over his words.

Before them, resting quite the thing on the kitchen table, was a huge cake. Reiner did an awful lot of baking, but this was a lot of work even by his standards. It was a blue, two tiered monstrosity. Pink buttercream icing was piped around the edges (Bertholdt recoiled inwardly at Reiner's lack of colour coordination) and, on the top tier of the cake, the words "WELCOME HOME BERTL" were written in white icing. He blinked. Reiner looked at him expectantly.

"Yes, Reiner. It's great.", he smiled. The blond haired man relax a little, his grin only widening as he patted Bertholdt's shoulder, leaving a floury white handprint. "So! Tell me all about today!".

The pair sat down on the sofa, each with a plate holding a rather large slice of cake. Bertholdt let out a sigh and put his feet up on the small coffee table in front of them. It was nice to get off his feet, especially after such a stressful day.

"What subjects did you have?", Reiner inquired, wasting no time in questioning him.

"Umm… Let's see…", he thought for a brief second. "Double art, Biology, Maths… English and Physics." Reiner nodded.

"Bet you put them all to shame with your amazing art skills.", he chuckled.

Bertholdt smiled. "I don't know about putting them to shame, but one guy in the class seemed to think my work was good."

"Oh?", Reiner asked, leaning in a little closer and wiggling his eyebrows. "Tell me more."

"Reiner!", Bertholdt laughed, almost choking on his cake. He put his hand over his mouth as he tried to stop laughing. Reiner relented, sitting back against the sofa with a slight smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth, waiting for Bertholdt to elaborate.

"We were doing still life drawings with charcoal. Jean- the guy sitting beside me yelled something when he saw mine. I was really worried it was because he thought it was awful but… I mean, he said it was good.", he shrugged.

"…Was he cute?".

"**R-Reiner**!", exclaimed Bertholdt, blushing profusely.

"Alright, I'll stop, I'll stop!", he chuckled. "Anyway, I want to hear about the rest of your day…".


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Jean jumped the moment a hand landed on his shoulder.

"What the hell-?", he snapped, whipping round, only pausing mid-sentence when he realised that his 'assailant' was none other than a slightly flustered looking Bertholdt.

"S-sorry, Jean.", he stammered. "I was just wondering if you could maybe point me in the direction of the PE department? I… I don't know where I'm going."

"Sure. We're heading there anyway. Right, Marco?".

The freckled boy nodded. "Don't worry. You'll get to know the place soon enough. It's not so bad."

"Thank you.", Bertholdt replied, offering a weak smile.

"Do you do any sports?", Jean asked.

"I used to swim, but I guess I'm pretty good at athletics… You know, high jump and running and that kind of thing." Jean immediately latched onto the fact that he might now have some competition.

"Running, huh?", he mused. "What distance?"

"800 metres, mostly.", he replied quietly. "Do you two do any sports?"

"Not me. I'm only here because it's compulsory.", Marco smiled, shaking his head.

"I do 100 metres, 800 metres and I'm in the school football team.", Jean smirked. Marco rolled his eyes. "Don't worry about him. He's just a little too competitive for his own good."

Bertholdt smiled, his nervousness seeming to fade a little.

Jean panted, his breathing heavy and laboured as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He stood bent forwards, hands on his knees.

"Well done, Kirschtein. That's a personal best.", Erd Gin, school sports instructor, stated bluntly. He took a note of the new time on his clipboard. Even at the start of the term he was miles ahead of most of the others in the 100m and he didn't hesitate to think he'd also be top of the class at all the other events too. Marco tossed him his water bottle, which he took gratefully. He chugged half the bottle down before gasping for air once more, this time forcing himself to stand upright.

"Look,", Marco smiled. "Bertholdt is up next. We should cheer him on. He's probably feeling really nervous right now.". Jean looked up, leaning on the fence and watching as said man fidgeted nervously on the starting line. He was up against some fierce competition; Eren and Connie were to either side of him. They had ranked second and third, respectively, at last year's sports tournament. Still, Jean supposed Marco was right. He should probably try to at least make the run a little less frightening for the poor guy. There was a silence as they prepared to start. Erd raised the gun.

"Take your marks!", he yelled. The racers all took their places, crouching down into the start position. There was a moment of silence. The gun fired with a sharp crack and the track burst into life. Eren was quick on the start, but Bertholdt quickly caught up with him, running parallel. Jean blinked. His technique was fantastic; posture only slightly forward, strides nearly the perfect length, shoulders always level. "…Woah.", was all Marco could manage to say as they came up towards the second lap. Jean's mind was somewhere else, eyes focused on Bertholdt as he powered ahead. There was something about the man's quiet strength that drew him in and he found himself transfixed on the race. "G-Go, Bertholdt!", he blurted. Bertholdt momentarily met his gaze as he passed. "Go!", he cheered with a renewed energy. Marco joined in, offering cheers along the lines of "you can do it!" and "just a little further!". Jean couldn't help but notice the slight smile on the runner's face as he approached the end of the second lap. Just one more to go. He was, just barely, in the lead. "GO BERTHOLDT!", Jean bawled, surprising even himself with his enthusiasm. He wasn't sure if the man had heard him or if he had simply registered he was nearing the finish, but the tall man accelerated. Marco cheered and wooped loudly, laughing as Jean yelled until he was red in the face. Eren and Bertholdt were neck and neck, both vying for first place. Jean huffed, unable to shout anymore, he simply watched as the new boy gritted his teeth and pressed forwards, breaking through exhaustion to claim first place. Marco cheered happily and grabbed Jean, dragging him over to where Bertholdt sat painting.

"Catch.", Jean muttered hoarsely as he tossed a bottle towards him. He caught it, taking a couple of gulps of water before standing back up and wiping his mouth.

"…Thanks.", he muttered breathlessly.

"Bertholdt Fubar.", called Erd. "Get over here."

"Y-yes, sir!", Bertholdt stammered, returning Jean's bottle before slowly making his way towards the coach. Jean watched him walk in the opposite direction with a keen interest. There was something about the tall boy that made him lose his usual cool composure. He blinked and quickly turned away as Bertholdt looked over his shoulder and caught him staring. He felt himself blush.

"Are you alright Jean?", Marco asked, arms crossed. "You look kind of flushed…"

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine.", he blurted out. Marco smiled and nodded.

Jean couldn't help but steal a couple more glances at the new boy before reluctantly going to stretch.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

"Jean, can we talk?", Marco asked, carefully placing Jean's battered xbox controller on his lap.  
"Sure. Not like we're going to get past this level in any hurry... Who the hell designed this it anyway? Fucking impossible.".  
Marco chuckled.  
"I just... Is everything okay? I don't mean to pry, but you've seemed so distracted since we've started back. I'm starting to worry a little.".  
Jean shook his head and slumped back on his bean bag. "I'm fine."  
"You say that but... You know you can tell me anything, right?".  
"I know. It's not that I don't trust you - because I really, really do - but it's just... not like me.".  
Marco nodded. "Is something going on at home?". When he said home, he meant Jean's home, not the apartment that they shared during school time. The smaller man shook his head.  
"No. Just... It's not that important."  
"Is it about Mikasa?"  
"No. I gave up on her a long time ago.", he sighed, rubbing his neck. He idly rolled the analog stick on his controller in circles as he tried to think of what to say.  
"It's someone else.".  
Marco blinked in surprise. Who else could there be? Sure, Jean had been dead set on winning Mikasa's heart for years, but he had never really displayed an interest in anyone else after she rejected him.  
"Oh. May I ask who?".  
Jean smirked. "Now you're just being nosy, Marco.".  
Marco rolled his eyes and smiled. "I'm just curious.".  
"You couldn't guess anyway. Let's get back to kicking some ass.". The game flickered back into life as Jean left the pause menu, leaving no time for Marco to speak before they were ambushed by the first group of enemies. "Legendary" hadn't been Jean's choice of game; Marco had picked it out, but he was still getting pulled into it. He offered hoots and screams as they fought off fire salamanders.  
"Flip the switch, Jean!"  
"What switch?!"  
"The one for the sprinklers! There! No! There! That way! Quickly!"  
Jean launched a victory scream as he tapped X on the lever and the sprinklers burst into action, extinguishing the salamanders.  
"Marco, get off the-", he yelled frantically as Marco's character dashed along the tracks. Too late. The 'game over' screen covered Marco's half of the TV.  
"What happened?!", he yelped.  
"You got hit by a fucking train, dumbass.", Jean groaned.  
Marco laughed. "You always get so aggressive when it comes to gaming.". Jean snorted and rolled his eyes. There was a moment of silence.  
"It's Bertholdt, isn't it?".  
"...What the hell are you talking about?", Jean muttered, trying to keep composed. How the hell had he guessed?  
"What you were saying before. You like him, right?".  
Jean didn't reply, just offered a half-hearted shrug and focused on the screen. Marco smiled softly. He had been friends with Jean since they were kids. He had learned along the way that Jean wasn't at all hard to read. It was clear to him he was on the right tracks.  
"Why him?"  
"Hell if I know... He's cute enough, but that's not it... I don't know. He's just...", he trailed off. He didn't know what to say. He liked everything about him. The way he tripped and stumbled over words, the kind and polite way he talked, the way he ran. Hell, even his near-constant nervous sweating made Jean's heart fucking flutter like something right out of a girly teen novel. "I don't know.", he finally muttered.  
Marco shrugged. "Fair enough. But if it's any consolation...", he paused. "I think you would make a cute couple.".  
"Piss off.", Jean laughed, trying his best not to smile. "We still have this level to beat. Try not to become roadkill this time.".


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

For the first time, possibly ever, Jean actually felt as enthusiastic about going to art as Marco did. Of course, the pair had entirely different reasons for being so eager to attend the class. Marco simply enjoyed the tranquil atmosphere and getting lost in layers of paint and the scratching of pencil on paper. Jean really couldn't care less about any of that. No, there was one reason, and one reason only, for him being so eager for class to begin. And he was walking down the corridor in front of them.

For some reason he couldn't get Bertholdt Fubar out of his goddamned head. Even now he struggled to pay attention to what Marco was talking about as he forced himself not to stare. He nodded reservedly at Marco's suggestion that he apply for school captain.

"… you might not think you're the type of person to be a leader, but you're really honest. People respect that. The school needs someone who gets straight to the point and who understands what the students want. Right, Jean?", Marco grinned eagerly. "… Jean?". Jean was lost in thought as they turned to enter the classroom. He blinked. "… uhh, yeah. I think I'll go for it. Thanks, Marco."

"No problem. Are you okay?", the freckled male replied, keeping his voice down.

"Yeah.", Jean grunted. He took his seat and shrugged his jacket off. Bertholdt was over at the sink attempting to pry the cap off of a tube of white paint. Jean discreetly watched him as he furrowed his brow slightly, muttering something under his breath. The cap became unstuck and the tall boy seemed to relax, going back to adding more colours to his palette. He reached over to return the tube of white to one of the drawers by the sink when he happened to look over in Jean's direction and meeting his gaze. Jean hastily looked away, scanning the art classroom, looking in the opposite direction as Bertholdt made his way back to his seat with a clean pot of water in one hand and a palette of paint. Fucking hell, why did he have to be so cute? Jean focused on his work, cheeks burning red as he tried to make some progress on his painting.

In an effort to try and get him to actually work, Dawk had ordered him to work in acrylics. No sketches, no excuses, just paint. While he still wouldn't say he liked art, this was actually more tolerable that any of the other stuff he'd done in the past. Just as he put brush to paper, the instructor decided to make an announcement. "Stop what you're doing for two seconds, class.", he said tiredly, running a hand through his hair. "A couple of you have expressed interest in coming in after school to get work completed. I'm happy to accommodate that today and tomorrow. It will be running until half past four. Taxis will be provided if necessary…". Jean nudged Bertholdt.

"You going tonight?"

Bertholdt shrugged. "Maybe… I'll have to phone home though."

Jean simply nodded. "Just let me know. It'd be nice to have a friend there.", he smiled.

"Oh, won't you be going, Marco?", Bertholdt inquired.

"I-", he started. Jean, who had turned to him gave him a wink. Marco smiled. "I can't make it tonight."

"Oh… I see. That's a shame. I'd love to get a better look at how you paint. Maybe another time."

Jean felt a slight twinge of jealousy, but squashed it down.

"What's that?", Jean questioned, pointing to a small blue book that lay on the desk beside his. Bertholdt followed his gaze.

"Oh. It's my sketchbook… I thought I'd bring something to work on in case I finish this.", he blinked.

"Can I see?"

"Sure…", he carefully handed the book to Jean. "…It's not that great and there are a lot of unfinished things…".

Jean put the book on his desk and flicked through it. Marco, who sat to his right, leaned over to have a look.

"These are great…", the freckled boy smiled. "Is that your cat?", he asked, pointing to a delicate watercolour painting on one of the pages. Bertholdt shook his head.

"No. It belongs to our neighbour. I've always wanted a cat though", he replied. Jean turned more pages, revealing doodles and paintings and squares of colours and attempts at landscapes and portraits. "Who's that guy?", Jean asked, indicating to the page on the right where there was a pencil portrait of a young man. "Oh, that's my friend, Reiner."

"Does he go to this school?", Marco inquired.

"No. He left when our old school was shut down."

Jean finished flicking through the book and carefully handed it back. "You'd better show up tonight", Jean smirked. "Teach me the secret of becoming a great artist."


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

Bertholdt peered into the classroom. Empty. He fidgeted nervously, wondering if he should go in or not. Where was Jean? Hadn't he said he'd be here? Chattering students flooded past him in packs and the nervous male tried his best to press his back against the wall so as not to get in their way. He was relieved to finally see Jean wandering lazily down the hall towards him, as if he had all the time in the world. Bertholdt offered a shy wave, which Jean enthusiastically returned. "Glad you showed up!", Jean smirked.

"The same goes for you. Do we… go in? Mr Dawk isn't there."

Jean shrugged and wandered into the class. "Who knows? He'd be mad if we weren't working by the time he arrived though.".

Bertholdt nodded. Jean had a point. Besides, he was itching to get his painting completed so he could begin something new. Maybe something a little more challenging. He gently pulled out his chair and placed his bag under the table before making his way over to the cabinets on the adjacent wall that contained the painting supplies.

Jean grabbed a pencil from his bag before skidding it lazily across the floor to the foot of his table. He picked up a sharpener from the worktop beside the sink and tried not to stare as Bertholdt shuffled around, fumbling with supplies at the other side of the room. He grunted as the lead in his pencil snapped for the third time. "Cheap piece of crap.", he grumbled, glowering at the pencil.

"Would you like me to lend you a pencil, Jean…?", the taller boy asked quietly, trying not to laugh at his struggle.

"Nah. I'll borrow one from Dawk. He won't even know it's gone."

"…Alright. Just… don't get caught.", he said, more than a little uncertain as to whether 'borrowing' stationary from their teacher was really such a great idea. He finished laying everything neatly out on his desk and sat down, smiling at the picture he had been working on earlier. For once, he was relatively content with his work. It was good to be off to such a great start, especially considering he'd only been in the school for a couple of weeks now. Jean pulled his chair out and sat next to Bertl. He slammed a couple of blank A3 sheets onto his desk. "I am so fucking ready to art.".

One thing Jean quickly realised was that Bertholdt had the patience of a goddamn saint. He sat patiently as Jean struggled with scale and shape, and politely answered his questions about what colours to mix to achieve the right shade. He would even show him what to do, leaning over and taking a hold of Jean's brush, guiding it across the paper. Jean just nodded and thanked him, even when Bertholdt would lean across the desk and brush his arm or cheek by accident. He tried his best to impress, but there was only so much he could achieve with the little talent he possessed. For once, he was actually thoroughly absorbed in what he was doing. He was lost in a sea of colour and form and negative space and the comfortable silence between him and his classmate. He didn't care that Dawk hadn't shown up at all during the hour and only realised it was half four when Bertholdt nudged him and pointed up at the clock.

"Oh. Thanks. Would have been here all night if you hadn't pointed that out.", Jean smiled gratefully.

Bertholdt nodded. "I'm glad you were enjoying yourself. You always seem so uninterested in class."

Jean just shrugged and headed over to the sink with his paint-covered palette, swinging his bag over his shoulder. There was a clatter as it hit a pot of paintbrushes, sending them clattering onto the floor. Bertholdt jumped, whipping his head around in the direction of the noise.  
"Sorry. I'll get those in a sec.", Jean muttered. He turned back to the sink to rinse his palette, turning on the tap only to have the water hit off the plastic drench him and the floor.

"Fuck!", he yelped, turning the tap off and dropping the equipment into the basin. "Ugh…". It wasn't too bad. Most of the water was pooling in a puddle on the ground at his feet. He wiped the water from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. He'd better clean this shit up or the cleaners would go nuts. Paper towels. Where the hell were they? He caught sight of them, sitting on the windowsill a few metres to his left.

"Watch out.", he said to the black-haired boy as they squeezed past one another in the opposite direction. "'Spilled some water."

Bert nodded and walked carefully, avoiding the pool of water and the paintbrushes that littered the floor. He grabbed a handful of towels and made his way back, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.

It happened in a matter of seconds. Bertholdt was turning from the sink to head back to his table when Jean stepped on one of the paintbrushes that he had previously knocked off of the worktop. It rolled underfoot and he found himself tumbling helplessly forwards, arms flailing, feet yanked from under him. He wasn't even able to let out a cry as he crashed into Bertholdt, sending him sprawling backwards onto the floor. He yelped as he landed on the cold linoleum surface with Jean on top of him. "Ooof-", the taller man wheezed as the air was forced out of his lungs by the weight on top of him.  
"Shit, Bert... Are you alright?", Jean muttered, suddenly concerned. What if he'd broken his ribs or some shit? Holy hell, that would be a record for his worst interaction with a goddamned crush.  
"Y-Yeah, I'm...fine.", Bertholdt eventually replied as he pulled himself onto his elbows. Jean blinked, making no effort to move. All the pain from his fall had been forgotten as he realised how close they were. Jean's hands rested on Bert's chest and to his side. "Jean...?". Seeing the red, blushing face below him, Jean's heart pounded. After a split second of hesitation, he went in for the kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

Time seemed so freeze for both boys as their lips met is a quick, chaste kiss. Jean's heart pounded in his chest, his eyes were closed and, for a second, everything seemed perfect. The moment he pulled away and looked at the boy below him his stomach dropped and he suddenly felt nauseous. What the hell had he just done? Bertholdt looked up at him, his mouth half open as if to say something. His eyes were wide in shock and disbelief, vaguely reminding Jean of a rabbit in headlights. An intense blush painted his cheeks a bright red. Jean quickly scrambled up. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I-", he grabbed the worktop and pulled himself up. He had fucked up. Why? _Why _had he even _considered_ kissing him? He could feel his eyes watering. He saw Bertholdt pull himself up, staring nervously at him. Jean turned away, grabbed the straps on his bag and kept his head down as he made to leave. How was he going to live this down?

"Jean.", a hand firmly gripped the sleeve of his shirt. He turned around, feeling his heart skip a beat. Was he going to punch him? A fight was the last thing he wanted. "I'm sorry.", he blurted out, red with embarrassment. "I wasn't thinking, I-"

An arm wrapped itself around his waist, the other around his back. He was pulled into a gentle embrace. "I-It's okay, Jean.".

The smaller man looked up. "You…"

"I wasn't expecting…", Bert paused, "…that.". Jean looked up to see a shy smile pulling at Bertholdt's lips. "…And I don't think you were either, huh…?"

Jean nodded against the taller boy's chest, a feeling of tremendous relief washing over him like a wave, soothing the burning embarrassment he had felt only moments before.

"We'd better leave before the place starts getting locked up…", Jean muttered, reluctantly prying himself away from Bertholdt.

"…Yeah. How are you getting home?"

"I walk. I don't stay too far.", he shrugged, trying to compose himself.

"Oh, me too. Do you think we could maybe walk together? I mean, if it's the same direction…", the black haired boy mumbled, a slight blush returning to his cheeks.

"Sure. Grab your stuff and let's go."

The sun was just beginning to set as they made their way off of the campus, heavy rain clouds dusted with an intense red hue. The two walked in a comfortable silence as the first faint droplets of rain began to hit the ground.  
"...You didn't need to apologise.". Bertholdt was the first to break the silence. He looked at Jean, nervously waiting for his response.  
"I- I didn't know that. I just thought I'd fucked up. It... It wouldn't be the first time.", he said bitterly, flashbacks of his time with Mikasa starting to surface. He shook them off. "You looked...", he trailed off, thinking for the right words.  
"Scared?", the black haired boy smiled nervously. "When don't I?". Jean snorted. He supposed it was true. While Bertholdt wasn't outright terrified, he was always withdrawn, clearly nervous and more than a little uneasy when it came to group sports or speaking in front of the class. "I just... I didn't expect it.". They turned, taking the path that ran through the old park.  
"And if you did expect it?", Jean mumbled quietly after a moment of silence, his usual charisma starting to break through, a smirk working its way onto his lips. Their eyes met, their pace slowed to a halt.  
"...I wouldn't complain.", Bertholdt replied. The smaller man grinned, heart hammering in his chest, as he put his hands on Bertholdt's shoulders, lifting himself slightly onto his toes. Bert's hands gently cupped Jean's face as he leant down a little to meet his lips. This time, there was no rush or awkward pauses or fear of rejection, just fluttering feelings within their chests and the warmth of another person. Even the awkward bumping of their noses didn't faze them as lips slid over one another in a heated kiss, Bertholdt's hands dropping down to Jean's waist as any distance between them was removed. Jean, his confidence fully returned to him now, playfully bit the taller boy's bottom lip, causing him to sigh deeply; warm breath ghosting across the pair's faces. As they pulled away, half-lidded eyes met and soft, genuine smiles were exchanged. Bert took Jean's hand as they made to continue their journey, this time walking a little closer to one another. Rain was still a threat; dark clouds looming overhead, ready to burst at a moment's notice.

"…Have you got any plans for this evening, Jean?"

"No.", he replied, shrugging.

"Oh. Well, maybe you'd like to hang out at my place for a while…? I mean, if you wanted…"

"Of course. That would be ace, Bert.", he replied, pleasantly surprised by the request. God, this really was turning out to be a pretty sweet day after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

Reiner peered out of the kitchen window, one arm clutching a mixing bowl and the other stirring the mixture within slowly with a wooden spoon. He knew Bert could look out for himself, but it didn't stop him from worrying. He was Reiner's closest friend, aside from Annie who would occasionally stop by for a visit. The first drops of rain hit the window pane with faint 'plink's. The summer holidays were only just over and already the first autumn showers had arrived. He put the mixing bowl on the kitchen counter, pulling two muffin trays out of the cupboard. He really needed to find somewhere to put all the things he baked. Maybe he should start a bakery…? He snapped out of his thoughts the moment he caught a flash of familiar blue down the street. Bertholdt's jacket wasn't the only way of recognising him. Compared to the average person, he still stuck out like a sore thumb, what with being so tall. Reiner squinted. There was someone with him. Someone he didn't recognise. A red jacket and brown – or was that blond? – haired person, seemingly clutching the other's hand. Reiner went back to greasing the muffin tray, smiling. It was rare they ever got guests. He wondered if Bertholdt's friend was fond of home baking.

"…I should warn you about my roommate.", Bertholdt said as they made their way down the street towards their small house. Raindrops quietly pitter-pattered off of the pavement and road as they passed the park in the centre of the enclosed group of buildings.

"What about him?", Jean asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Reiner can be… a little overbearing now and then. He's perfectly friendly though. Just… don't be too fazed if he acts a little strangely. We don't usually have guests."

"Is it just you two living together?"

Bertholdt nodded. "Both of our parents work abroad for most of the year." He tried to remove any emotion from his voice, but still found it cracking towards the end of the sentence. Reiner was better suited to life without parents than he was. He missed them, but they were away doing the job they loved. He couldn't fault them for that.

"What about you? Didn't you say you lived with Marco?"

"Yeah, we share a place when school's in. Both of our families live miles away in the country. It's easier to just stay in town during term time."

"Ah, I see. That makes sense.", he replied, smiling. The pair crossed the road, drawing up in front of a narrow two story house, nestled cosily between two other, similar houses. The only thing making it stand out was the neat, well-pruned front garden. Rose bushes were nestled tidily under the front window, all a pure, snow white. Pansies and crocuses lined the grass beside the scabby looking metal fence that enclosed the garden.

"I like gardening…", Bertholdt explained. "It took me forever to get the roses growing, though. What do you think?". Jean detected the pride in his voice; he could almost hear his smile.

"They're great, Bert. Aren't they really demanding though? I think Marco once said something like that.". The taller man nodded vigorously.

"Yes. They're notoriously fickle…", he smiled. "A challenge once in a while is nice though."

He let go of Jean's hand to walk up the doorsteps and open the door; holding it open for his companion as they made their way out of the dull weather and inside to warmth and the smell of baking.

"Bert! You're back!", yelled Reiner from the kitchen. "I've just put some muffins in the oven, they should be ready in a while.". He poked his head around the kitchen door, into the hall where Bertholdt was taking Jean's jacket for him, hanging it on one of the pegs on the wall that he had - rather sloppily - nailed into place after Reiner complained about jackets, hats and scarves being left scattered around the house.  
"Oh, who's your friend?", he said, eyes suddenly locked on Jean, one eyebrow raised.  
"O-oh! Jean, this is Reiner, my roommate. Reiner, this is Jean, a friend from school." He only hesitated slightly in calling jean a friend. He wasn't quite sure what they were after today's events.  
Reiner wiped a flour covered hand on his trousers before extending it to Jean. The two shook hands.  
"Good to finally meet you! Thanks for looking out for my Bert. Appreciate it.", he smirked.  
"Uhh, no problem.", Jean said, attempting a smile. There was something vaguely intimidating about Berthold's roommate. He was fairly average looking; blond haired, average height, quite muscular with a squared jaw and a boyish grin to match, but something about him made Jean a little nervous. But that impression only lasted for a brief moment before an expression of realisation appeared on the blond's face.  
"Hey, Jean, which do you prefer? Chocolate cake or victoria sponge?". Jean glanced at Bertholdt, clearly more than a little confused at the sudden topic of conversation.  
"Chocolate cake, I guess.", he shrugged. Reiner's face lit up.  
"Good, good! I'll keep that in mind! What are you two gonna do, anyway?".  
"We were going to go upstairs. Computer or xbox probably.", replied Bertholdt, exchanging a glance with Jean and shrugging.  
Reiner nodded, grinning. "I'll call you down when the muffins are ready."

-

"Just sit your bag down wherever.", Bert smiled shyly as he led Jean into his room. It was small enough to seem snug, but not enough to seem constricting. The walls were painted sky blue, cream carpets and black curtains complemented the look. Bertholdt seemed to have a pretty good idea of what constituted an aesthetically pleasing room. Books were nearly ordered on a bookshelf standing at the wall opposite the door. His bed was out the way, fitting snugly into a rectangular alcove that had probably once been a walk-in wardrobe. Jean shuddered at the thought of his own room; it was a tip compared to this. Bertholdt stretched, relieved to finally have the weight of his schoolbag removed from his shoulders.  
"So", he smiled. "Are you alright with video games?"


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

"Pfft, you're just as hopeless as Marco", Jean laughed as Bertholdt groaned and lay back on the soft, cream carpet. He was still grinning, none too upset about having to start at the last checkpoint. He handed the controller over to Jean.

"You're a lot better than me at these things, Jean. Maybe even as good as Reiner.", he smiled, sitting back up, running a hand through slightly messy hair.

"Maybe?", Jean smirked. "I could wipe the floor with anyone, anytime.". He elbowed Bert;

"You might be an artistic genius, but this is my area of expertise.".  
To demonstrate his point, he turned his attention back to the game, shooting five irridiated wolves in a row, scoring headshots on all but one.

"Yeah, yeah...", the taller man smiled, an idea to sabotage the other boy's attempt already planted firmly in his head. He watched as Jean neared the next group of enemies in stealth mode, smiling inwardly at the way his brows furrowed in concentration. Bert leaned over and - just when Jean was about to strike - pushed him onto his side. "Wha-!", was all Jean had time to mutter before the screen lit up with an explosion; he must have walked into a trap. He tossed the controller to one side. It gently thudded off the carpet as he turned onto his back and grabbed Bertholdt by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down so he was on top of the smaller boy.

"You big cheat.", Jean smirked.

"It wasn't cheating. Honest.", Bertholdt chuckled.

"Mmm, whatever you say.". For once, Jean found he wasn't that bothered about losing, or even getting taken out by one of the most avoidable obstacles in the game. All he could think about was how fucking lucky he was to be so close to Bertholdt.

"You're cute when you blush, Jean.", the taller man chuckled.

"Cute?", he frowned, feigning hurt. "Don't you mean handsome? Gorgeous? Stun-".

He was silenced when Bertholdt dropped to his elbows and kissed him mid-sentence. Jean smiled and rested a hand on the back of the taller boy's head, fingers working their way through short locks of black hair. Just as Bertholdt was about to brave deepening their kiss, they were interrupted by a mighty yell from the bottom of the stairs.  
"BERTL. JEAN. THE MUFFINS ARE READY."

* * *

Jean peered around Bertholdt into the kitchen as the taller man defended him from the two trays of baked goods Reiner was attempting to thrust into their hands.

"R-Reiner! Give us a chance to get in the kitchen first…?"

"Oh. Right! Sorry, I get a little carried away."

Bertholdt looked over his shoulder at Jean, who still looked a little unsure about the whole ordeal. He offered the smaller man a smile before standing aside to let him pass.

"Think fast, John.", called Reiner as he tossed a muffin at the younger boy. Jean panicked but managed to catch it, saving it from landing on the floor or soaring into a wall.

"T-Thank you.", Jean stammered, unsure of how to respond. Bertholdt's friend was a little weird, but he sure as hell didn't want to upset him. Bertholdt spoke up, gently reminding Reiner that he should probably be more polite to guests and that his friend's name was, in fact, _Jean_.

"Ah, yeah. Sorry, Jean.", he replied, tossing Bertholdt a muffin.

"I don't think they'll be as good as the last batch. Could be wrong, though…". He gave a noncommittal shrug before taking a bite. Jean and Bertholdt did the same. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but oh man, Bert hadn't been lying when he said Reiner was a superb baker.

"What do you think, Jean?", he asked, smirking.

"It tastes absolutely great. It's amazing.".

Reiner beamed, clearly pleased that his cooking had gone down well with his new acquaintance.

"Please! Take as many as you like! You too, Bert! I can't eat them all myself, after all…".


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

_"Hello? This is... Uhh... Reiner Braun. Bertholdt's friend.", Reiner muttered at the other end of the line. Marco blinked, holding the phone and staring at the wall in front of him, a little confused as to why he had called._

_"Oh...! Is there something I can do for you? Jean's not around-"_

_"No, I called to speak to you, actually, Marco."_

_"M-me?", Marco blurted out, suddenly feeling rather panicked. Oh god, what was this about? What had Jean done? How did Reiner know his name? He'd never even seen the man let alone spoken to him._

_"Yeah. You're Jean's friend, right?"_

_"Y-yes...?"_

_"Hm. Our two are going on their first date this friday. I'm a little apprehensive. Do you feel the same?", Reiner asked. He could feel a blush spread across his face, his ears quickly becoming a light shade of red as he registered just how dumb he sounded._

_"In all truth? A little. Jean is clumsy and hot-headed. Last time we went out to eat he ended up getting into a lot of trouble... Why do you ask?"._

_"I'm worried about Bertholdt. He's never been on a date before. I just...", he tried to think how to word the request best. "I want to be there to make sure everything goes to plan. What do you think?". There was an awkward pause, a moment of silence; enough to make the blond lose his nerve and put the phone down, clutching his head in his hands. It was a stupid idea anyway. Oh god, he hoped Marco wouldn't tell Jean. Fuck- he was just trying to look out for- The phone rang again. Nervously, he picked it up._

_"Hey, it's Marco. Sorry for not responding quickly enough. I... feel the same. But I don't think you phoned me up just to discuss it. Do you have a plan?"_

_"Oh- thank god. I was really worried... But, yeah, I do. I put a bit of thought into it. You might want to get a pen and paper to write this down on."._

* * *

Bertholdt's mind was racing as he walked slowly along the street. He tried to remember to breathe; deep breaths - just like Reiner had told him - before hurrying him out the door. Jean didn't live that far away, but still... What if he got the address wrong? He'd left his watch at home; What if he was too early? Too late? What would Marco think? He shook his head, hands burying themselves deep within the pockets of his trousers as he peered at the numbers on the buildings, only coming to a stop when he saw the name that Jean had given him, "Fallow Building 1-5", engraved over one of the doors. He was in flat number 5. It was simple. Nothing to worry about. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the '5' button on the metal panel to the right of the door for a couple of seconds before letting it go and waiting nervously. Silence followed. Then there was a metallic beep and a crackly, static voice.

"Number 5. Who is it?"  
Bertholdt swallowed; it was Marco.

"I-it's Bertholdt."

"Oh! You're a little early. Jean's not quite ready yet, but just head up. I'll unlock the door."  
The static ceased and was followed by a metallic ringing. Bertholdt pushed open the door, met by warm air and the smell of dust. He took a moment to compose himself, heart still racing, before making his way up the cold, concrete staircase.

"Jean! Hurry up!", Marco called through the door to their shared room where Jean was stood amidst piles of clothes. He'd never been this nervous about appearances before, but he wanted to make a good impression on their first date, even if it was just going to the docks and getting a meal. He grabbed a maroon hoodie with a white zip and cuffs from the floor and shoved it on, briefly taking a second to check it looked alright before running a comb through his hair. It didn't help much; his hair was unruly as hell no matter how much he worked on it. The doorbell rang. He dashed out the door.

"I've got it!", he yelled to Marco who had been making his way down the hall from the living room. Marco pressed himself against the wall, letting Jean past, before slipping into the kitchen.

"Hey! God, it's good to see you.", Jean smiled.  
Bertholdt beamed as he saw his friend, nerves forgotten as the smaller man met him in a hug. He caught a brief glimpse of Marco as Jean called to him, saying he'd be back later and that he had his phone with him. As Jean shut the door and looked at his date under the flickering light above them, he felt an uncontrollable grin work its way onto his face.

"It's good to see you too, Jean.".

* * *

_"That's them left now. What should I do?"._  
_"That's good. Stick to the plan. Wait ten minutes or so. Bertl said he was planning on doing to the docks first. We'll meet up there."_  
_"A-alright! See you there."._


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

In a small town there are only so many places you can go. The pubs are busy at night, the parks are full of broken glass and shady characters, the small two-screen cinema is always crammed full of people, so Bertholdt and Jean had agreed the best place to go would be down by the docks. It was quiet there with only the sound of water lapping at the riverside and the gentle mewing of the seagulls that danced in the air above. The sun was just beginning to set as the two sat on the edge of one of the small, unused wooden platforms hanging over the water, hand in hand, legs dangling over the edge. Jean chatted animatedly, boasting about one of the times he had got into an arm wrestling match with Thomas and had managed to knock him off his seat.

"-I didn't mean it, of course. But hey, he messed with the wrong guy, right?"

"Yes, I'm sure.", Bert smiled.

"Oi, we should have an arm wrestling contest sometime, right?"

"Maybe...! I'm not sure how good I'd be at it, though.".

"Nah, you just lack confidence. You'd probably give me a run for my money at the very least.".

"Yeah...", Bertholdt flicked a bit of plastic off of the pier and into the water. "Maybe."  
There was an awkward silence, neither really knowing what to say.

"Is Marco okay? About... this."

"Huh? He doesn't really mind, I guess. Figured out I liked you nearly quicker than I did.", he smiled. Usually he was absolutely, brutally honest, but even sharing that information with Bertholdt made his heart pound. "What about Reiner?".

"He's happy for me, I guess. I think he was more excited for the fact that I'd actually made a good friend.", he gazed at the clouds which were turning a dark, pinkish-red above them. "At our old school I was mainly just in the background. I never really spoke to anyone."

"Why?"

"I... I dunno. Reiner was always in the spotlight, I guess. It's not like I minded though. Just... sometimes I got a little lonely.".

"Yeah.", Jean smiled, this time not a cocky grin, but a genuine sympathetic smile. "Reiner seems to care a lot about you, though." He tried to steer the conversation onto a happier route, not wanting to upset his date within the first hour of their time out together.

"Yeah, Reiner is a great friend. He can be a little overzealous though. And now that he's home almost constantly, maybe a little too... overbearing."

"I know what you mean.", Jean smirked. "Marco acts like he's some sort of mother duck or something, always trying to look out for me.", he snorted.

"That's not too bad, though. Reiner sometimes gets really motherly. It kind of worries me a little.".

"He really does like his baking, huh?".

Bertholdt nodded. "He wants to open up a bakery, but we don't have the funds quite yet...".

"That'd be really great. I can just see you working the till. Ah, what a beautiful career ahead of you.", he sighed dramatically, wrapping an arm around the older boy and pulling him close. Bertholdt chuckled.

"Pass your exams and you can spend the rest of your life surrounded by piles of Reiner's baking all day, every day."

Bert elbowed him and laughed, shaking his head.

"Being the tillmaster. Tillmaster Bertholdt. Till Overlord Bertholdt. It has a ring to it, don't you think?", he smirked.

"Oh my god, Jean", the other boy wailed between outbursts of laughter. "Stop!"

* * *

On the roadside above, a hooded figure made its way along the pavement, keeping close to the houses to avoid being seen from the pier down from the other side of the road. A smile worked its way onto the face beneath the hood when whooping laughter erupted on the peer and began to echo down the quiet riverbank. Up ahead he could see his destination; one of the benches facing out onto the riverbank, some way away from the docks. He squinted, the setting sun getting in his eyes. Yes, there was definitely someone already there. He drew closer. Could it be…?

"Reiner?", he whispered cautiously. The man on the bench looked up. Even with a thick scarf covering his neck and a Peruvian bobble hat on, there was no mistaking him. He was the mirror image of the sketch Bertholdt had shown him and Jean some time ago.

"Yeah. Marco, right?"

Marco breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah, that's me."

* * *

On the dock the taller boy was in fits, laughing and wailing at Jean to stop because his ribs were aching and he couldn't breathe.

"President of Tills. Till Commander. Prime Minister of the Till. King of the tills, Bertholdt Fubar.", he hollered relentlessly. A hand clamped itself over his mouth.

"Stop, stop!", Bertholdt gasped between bouts of laughter, using his free arm to rub the tears from the corners of his eyes before shrieking as Jean used the age-old schoolkid trick of licking he other's hand in order to force them into retreat.

"Jean!", Bertholdt screeched, laughing in both amusement and disgust as he quickly pulled his hand away. "Gross!"

"Pfft, whatever!", Jean smirked in response. "Wanna go get something to eat? I'm starving."

The taller boy took a second to compose himself before replying with a smile plastered on his face.

"Sure. Let's go."

* * *

"They're moving. Did Bertholdt say-"

"They'll be going to The Hunter's Inn. Only decent place in town, really.", Reiner cut in. Marco looked at his feet, embarrassed.

"Oh, right… Of course…", he mumbled.

"Sorry, Marco. I'm just nervous. That's all.", he said, offering a smile. The freckled boy returned the gesture.

"We'll wait a couple of minutes and then head over."

"Sure. Nothing to worry about, right?".


	12. Chapter 12

The Hunter's Inn was only a short way away from the dock. The pair wandered back towards the town centre, strategically avoiding the park as the sunset began to recede into a black night sky laced with pale stars. As they chatted idly they were unaware of the fact that, from only a couple of streets behind them, they were being watched. A sign for The Hunter's Inn could be seen up ahead, sporting the business's logo; a crimson bow and arrow. As they turned away from the houses and into the more open path through a small public garden, they could see the lights shining through the windows. The warm smell of food filled the cold night air and Jean cursed at his stomach for growling so loudly while Bertholdt quietly chuckled. Jean made an effort to at least be a little gentlemanly, holding the door open for his partner before stepping into the warm establishment himself.

"Woah... I've not been here in ages.", Jean said, eyes scanning the room. It was warm and cosy; oak beams ran along the walls and roof, red wallpaper only adding to the appeal. It was fairly busy, but there were still many tables and booths left unoccupied. Jean, who had been glancing around, taking note of the other couples, looked up as they passed a member of staff.

"Wh- Armin? You work here?".

The blond waiter smiled politely. "It's good to see you, Jean. It's actually my grandfather's business. I just help out.", he explained, glancing over his shoulder and offering a smile at Bertholdt, who shyly returned it. "Are you here to eat? Or will you be at the bar?"

"We're here for food.", Jean said, relieved at the fact Armin didn't so much as bat an eyelid at the pair having dinner together.

* * *

Outside, Marco and Reiner lurked beside the park across from the restaurant. The smaller man nervously glanced at Reiner. "Are you sure they won't notice?"

Reiner firmly patted his shoulder, causing Marco to jump. "I'm certain. We just have to time it right. Wait for now, though."

* * *

"Oh man, I don't know what to have. I'm starving.", Jean groaned, flipping over the menu.

"You can think about it while I go get us drinks, if you'd like?", Bertholdt suggested. Jean, who was shrugging off his jumper, nodded eagerly. "That'd be great, Bert. I'll have a coke."

"Alright.", he replied, smiling, "I'll be back in two."

* * *

With Bertholdt at the bar and Jean with his back to the entrance, Reiner and Marco executed their plan. Grabbing Marco's hand and leading him quickly and quietly inside, he looked around. Jean was still occupied with the menu and his date was nowhere to be seen. Thinking on his feet, Reiner lead the other boy around the corner before sliding into a booth diagonally across the room from where the other pair were sitting. Here, Marco couldn't be seen because of the back of the booth and Reiner could see the pair's seats from the reflection in the window.

Marco fidgeted nervously. "Is this really-"

"Don't worry about it. We're just keeping an eye out for them."

"Y-yeah!", the freckled boy froze. "Bert's coming!", he whispered urgently.

"Look out the window, quick-".


End file.
